Schwangau

“Faërie contains many things besides elves and fays, and besides dwarfs, witches, trolls, giants, or dragons; it holds the seas, the sun, the moon, the sky; and the earth, and all things that are in it: tree and bird, water and stone, wine and bread, and ourselves, mortal men, when we are enchanted.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien, On Fairy-Stories

If you had the chance to live out one of your most beloved fairy tales, no matter how small the way, would you? The chance to fulfill a childhood fantasy, inspired by such tales, can overwhelm even the most logical “grown up” heart, driving it to take action. As for me, I do not think I will ever grow out of my love for fairy tales and fantasy. Any opportunity for me to daydream, to play, and to explore this magical world I will seize with zeal. The chance to see Germany’s famed “fairy tale” castle, Neuschwanstein is no exception. Though I was warned against it due to its overly tourist-y atmosphere, I could not be deterred. Once the chance to physically place myself into one of these scenes of magic and mystery presents itself, I will pursue it at any cost.

I am still comprehending the fact that I actually visited Neuschwanstein Castle, a place that had held a top tier on my bucket list for so long. The castle lived up to almost every expectation I held of it: each room had a different theme, many inspired by Wagner operas (which were favorites of King Ludwig II), adding to the sense of grandeur and majesty. The castle boasted a grotto with a waterfall and “rainbow machine,” which almost looked like something constructed for Disney World. However, that air of kitschy that often pervades Disney World was absent, since Neuschwanstein was constructed for personal, rather than public, pleasure. This castle was someone’s vision to reclaim the magic and mystery of the old world, to live without ever having to disenchant themselves.

While my traveling companion was not as impressed as I was, I believe this was due to the fact that he could not detach himself from the cynical, political view that taints the castle’s reputation. I find this rather disheartening, that so many people are quick to condemn anyone who simply loves fairy tales. Yes, perhaps Ludwig II did take it to the extreme by building a fairy tale castle with a grotto, a hall of singers, and a bed carved to look like a Gothic cathedral, but if any one who loved fairy tales and stories had the means, they probably would too. All I can say is this: what is wrong with wanting to live in a way that fully immerses you in the magic that so many have forgotten?

Though the tour of the castle was short, this is due to the fact that King Ludwig II died before it could be finished. Without the visionary behind it, construction of the castle soon ceased. However, I find it very fortunate that the castle was converted into a place for the public to visit and admire, since it does possess an air of magic. I found myself holding my breath at every new turn within the castle, as if anticipating some sprite or prince to step out from their hiding places to lead the tour themselves.

We concluded our adventure with a long hike around the Alpsee. This is perhaps one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. As you can see from the photos above, the water was like glass, only adding to the mystical nature of the entire area. The walking trails were beautiful and tranquil, with our only contact being those odd stone figures pictured above. The hike itself has inspired me to further explore the Alps, as I have never truly been amongst mountains, so I can only hope that I will be able to visit similar beautiful countryside in the near future.

All in all, being able to see Neuschwanstein Castle with my own eyes was an amazing and soul-satisfying experience. I get all giddy when I think of how many bucket list locales I am ticking off my list, as if I am doing that little girl who read too many fairy tales proud. This place was the perfect way to conclude my trip to Germany and my first voyage to continental Europe. After a grueling semester, it was wonderful to get the chance to restore myself in a place I felt so at home in. As this puts the cap on the “half way point” in my career at St Andrews, I can only hope these final two years provide even more opportunities to explore, to play, and to revel in the magic of our world a little more.

Originally written 7 July 2014

Dachau

For our “Gentlemen’s Tour Abroad,” Justin and I decided to spend two of our five days on day trips outside of Munich. As this trip was important to both of us, we decided it was only fair that each of us got to choose where we really dreamed of going for the day trips. So, as per Justin’s request, our first trip was to Dachau to see the concentration camp. Though I initially had qualms, when I look back I am actually glad I went, as it was an opportunity to really learn about the terrible things that occurred in these camps. I realize now that the education on certain things, especially the great tragedies of human history, that we receive in school is actually very censored, as many of the things I learned from the Dachau memorial were not covered in school. Perhaps this is another example of why travel, especially for young people, is so important: if you force yourself out of your comfort zone and see such places of tragedy with your own eyes, you can get a better sense of the history than if you were to simply read your (heavily edited) history text book. Furthermore, many of these places have carefully curated museums, constructed by experts and witnesses alike, to truly ignite the flame of knowledge in its visitors.

The main maintenance building of the camp has now been converted into a thirteen exhibit museum, complete with educational movie theater, for the public to tour. What I found particularly interesting were the hundreds of accounts by Dachau survivors quoted on all the exhibits, some excerpts taken from journals written as the events were unfolding. Seeing the faces of survivors and victims on the exhibits was really quite sobering, and really helped to solidify my historical understanding of what occurred.

While two of the bunkers, where prisoners were kept, remain standing to give the public an idea of what occurred at Dachau in terms of living conditions, most of the camp itself is now a grand memorial. Religious memorials for Russian Orthodoxy, the Protestantism (the Church of Reconciliation), Catholicism (Mortal Agony of Christ Chapel and the Carmelite Convent), and Judaism surround the camp. Other memorials, such as the International Monument outside the maintenance building and the “Unknown Prisoner” by the crematorium add to the air of remembrance and respect for those who endured life at the camp.

Perhaps what I found most interesting, albeit unsettling, about Dachau was that the surrounding area was actually quite beautiful. The paths of remembrance by the crematorium, where several monuments to the victims stand, were tranquil and lushly forested. I found it rather disturbing that such horrible things occurred among the beautiful trees and flowers. Perhaps this is a lesson that despite a beautiful exterior, rotten things may be unfolding at the core.

The Dachau Concentration Camp memorial was an incredibly moving and educational experience. While at first I was hesitant, I am thankful I had the opportunity to visit such an important historical memorial in the modern world.

Originally written 7 July 2014

Munich

“Dear sensibility! Source inexhausted of all that’s precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows! Eternal fountain of our feelings! ‘tis here I trace thee and this is thy divinity which stirs within me…All comes from thee, great-great SENSORIUM of the world!”

-Laurence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey

After reading the quintessential “Grand Tour” novel in Comparative Literature this semester, I was inspired to finally make my first voyage to the European continent. This was also made possible by the arrival of one of my oldest friends from home; since he was studying abroad in London for the month of May, he decided to end his first trip abroad by visiting me in Scotland then accompanying me to Germany.

So between May 31st and June 4th we walked, read, and ate through nearly everything Munich had to offer. As this was my first trip to Europe, I was beyond excited to finally see some of the places I only thought were to be read about in books like A Sentimental Journey and other travel narratives.

Munich is unlike any other place I have experienced before. I have never really been to such an incredibly busy city in my life, especially one so open to tourists as Munich. I probably saw more people walking down Marienplatz than I have all semester in that blustery Scottish village. To say I was overwhelmed at first was a bit of an understatement. Not only the number of people, but the grandeur of each building as well contributed to this feeling. In Scotland, most of the architecture is pretty humble: stone cottages nestled in the mountains, whitewash flats half tumbling into the sea. Even the castles and churches in Scotland, believed to be the grandest examples of Scottish history and culture, seem drab and morose compared to the Munich Residenz, the former royal palace of the kings of Bavaria.

Also speaking of architecture, I could detect a heavy Greco-Roman influence in a lot of the sculptures and accents around the city. Statues of what one could only assume are Pan, the god of nature, suddenly appear out of the thicket when walking a wee forest path, a goddess stands tall over the Oktoberfest fairgrounds, and the Hall of Fame consists of what appears to be Roman busts though the faces are of Bavarian monarchs. While Scotland is full of history, such history is often in ruins due to religious conflict or weather damage; here in Munich, the history is perfectly preserved, and has the air of being much older due to this Greco-Roman influence. The architecture and decoration of many of these buildings give a sense of a different kind of history entirely, one of an art-conscious society at the peak of its opulence. I have never seen anything like this before and I was in complete awe.

On our first full day in Munich, we toured the Deutsches Museum of Science and Technology. This museum is similar to the American Smithsonian in that one cannot properly visit every exhibit in just a day. While the arts student in me found some of these scientific and technological exhibits a wee bit boring, I did find joy touring the nautical exhibit in the museum. The museum boasted the complete history of maritime technology, starting with Southeast Asian dugout canoes all the way to modern pleasure, industry, and research vessels. As I was deep in Moby Dick at the time, I found the information on the whaling industry of particular interest. The other exhibits I found fascinating: the replica of Altamira Cave (a Spanish cave with some of the most perfectly preserved Stone Age paintings in the world), the music exhibit (who knew pocket fiddles were a thing?!), and astronomy.

The next two days were spent on day trips to Dachau and Neuschwanstein Castle, but those will be detailed in separate posts.

On our last full day in Munich we toured the Munich Residenz, the royal palace of Bavarian monarchs. As you are all aware by now, I have a keen fondness for castles which Scotland has been more than able to satisfy. However, Scotland does not have any royal palaces quite like this one. The very first room you enter is the Antiquarium, a great hall for the antiques collection of Duke Albert V. This hall reminds me of something that would be in Rome as a gathering place for politicians: Roman-esque busts of emperors line the hall, Latin inscriptions dance across the ceiling, and the marble flooring alone is enough to inspire awe. At this point I thought the rest of the palace would be small chambers with perhaps one or two tapestries in each. How could I know any different, as my experience thus far had been humble Scottish castles? Oh how wrong I was. Simply the wallpaper of each room was enough to study for an hour at least, so hopefully this gives you an idea of how sumptuous every chamber was. In one part of the palace every room had grand ceiling tiles painted in different themes, such as the star signs or the Greek deities of nature. However, in many of these rooms the main panels were missing or destroyed due to bombings in Munich in the 1940’s. Another interesting aspect of the Munich Residenz was the collection of antique Chinese porcelain, said to be the first imports of such into Europe. This collection was incredible, and it never occurred to me that I may see such faraway and exotic treasures in Munich, Germany. Also, as I had never seen real antique Chinese porcelain so close before, I think I worried the overseers as I practically had my nose pressed against the cases.

Besides all of these typical tourist sights, Munich is a bustling city that always has something going on. On the way to Gärtnerplatz we stumbled across the Viktualienmarkt, an open air market of food, beer, flowers, and other wee trinkets. I was so excited to finally experience my first European open air market, where all the food was incredibly fresh and the people as jovial as can be. In our evening wanderings we also stumbled across the Street Life festival that spanned all the way down Leopoldstraße. Though this festival was for the weekend we were in Munich only, it was amazing to see something a little less tourist-y and more on the local radar.

All in all, Munich was an incredible place. Though I am not really one for cities, Munich had so much to offer that, once I got the hang of it, I actually became quite comfortable. Perhaps one of my favorite places in Munich was the Englischer Garten, a public park that spans 1.4 square miles from the center of town to its northeastern limits. A lazy river wound its way through the park where we stopped to relax, a Greco-Roman style pavilion stood grandly above the park, and people of all ages came to relax. Since we visited the park mostly as an after-dinner walk, I found myself most at peace bathed in the bleeding Munich sunsets.

Originally written 7 July 2014

Oh Susanna

I have been meaning to make a post about this all day yet I could not seem to find the words until the moon stretched her luminous arms to embrace the sky. Despite the fact that I am an early riser, I am often wide awake until these quiet, intimate hours as my mind never seems to let me alone. So as I am at my most effusive, I may have finally found the right words to use.

The seventh of May is my grandmother’s birthday. As many may know, she is no longer here to celebrate, and has not been for quite some time. My grandmother passed when I was relatively young. So, while I had some time to know her kindness and recognize her passion for living, I am without the experience of sharing my adult life with her, unlike most of my relatives. These are perhaps the times in which I so ardently wish to believe in an afterlife. I wish that somehow she is participating in the experiences I am having as a young adult, particularly since she is the inspiration behind so many of them.

According to family lore, my grandmother was a no-nonsense kind of woman: she said what she meant, did what she pleased, and never spared a care to what others thought of her. These qualities are precisely what I list whenever I am asked who I want to be when I “grow up.” Such is reflected in the New Year’s Resolution that I made for 2014: to stop being so darn timid and just carpe diem. So while it wounds my heart that I cannot share these wonderful adventures and experiences with her, a wee twinkling of optimism reminds me that it is precisely her memory that inspires me to do the things that I do. My greatest dream in life is to simply live as fully and completely as possible, and I wholeheartedly believe this was instilled in me by my grandmother’s example.

Yet I do have to remind myself that I have made some great leaps in this direction already:

  • I have survived living away from home for two years; being the world’s biggest homebody, I take this as a supreme accomplishment.
  • Yet there are two additional layers to this independence: one being the rigors of university life, and this on top of navigating a foreign country. This is something I never would have imagined for myself five years ago.
  • I recently climbed a mountain.
  • I am able to fully engage in the things that give me joy: running, swimming, horseback riding, and aimlessly roving about like the semi-feral creature I am.
  • My entire university course load is reading and writing. Living the dream right there!
  • In a few short weeks I will be making my first voyage to the European continent.

As this semester draws to a close, and with thoughts spared to my grandmother on her birthday, I cannot help but think how far I’ve come from that timid small-town girl who wandered too far from her cozy little Hobbit hole. Even at the start of second year I was still unsure as to whether I belonged at St. Andrews, and whether I could truly commit to three more years so far from the comforts of my home and my family. Yet while wandering the Lade Braes today in the warm evening sunshine, amongst the fragrant bluebells and gurgling little streams, I realized I could not be anywhere else at this time. Thoughts of my grandmother only reinforced this affirmation: what was once a fantasy of mine has become very much a reality simply by the strength of my will to do something different and to be my own person. And I have only my grandmother to thank for inspiring me to do this, because without her example, I probably would be a very different Maggie.

Also, as we begin making steps towards our final years here at St. Andrews, many of my peers are beginning to think of life after university. Throughout high school I had had my life planned to perfection: where I would go to university, what my senior thesis would be, where I would go after, what career I would have, etc. Seeing as step one on that agenda was attend New York University (oh how I laugh at sixteen-year-old Maggie), it is safe to say that that entire agenda may be wiped from the board. Even at the beginning of first year I had seemingly not learned, as I meticulously began to plan my life once again. Lately, though, I have given myself a slap in the face for such behavior. I need to take a breath, think for a minute, and cool the jets. Again, if my grandmother has taught me anything, it’s to simply live and live for today.

So that’s what I intend to do. Right now, I do not have a post-university plan, and that terrifies the list-making, organization crazed, and security obsessed part of me. Yet it is also strangely liberating. I still have some navigating to do in terms of growing up, and trying to compartmentalize myself when I haven’t even straightened out my own edges is not in good practice. I think for now my only plan is to do “stuff and things,” and right now, I think that is a-okay. For so long I have been making plans, drafting lists, and organizing, yet these all seem fruitless tasks, since life is too fluid to be managed in any of these ways. Lately, life to me has been like my beloved North Sea: you cannot force it to do anything you intend for it, but if you simply step back and appreciate both the tempestuous and the still moments, it is beautiful all the same.

To come full circle, I am still deeply saddened that I cannot spend these wonderful years with someone so important to me and someone who would truly appreciate this ever-growing passion for adventure. However, I guess the only thing I can do about it is live a life of gratitude. I am thankful that I have such a wonderful role model who inspires me to live as passionately and insatiably as I can. While I am unsure as to whether she ever came across any Tolkien in her time, I am certain that these words would have fueled her spirit in the same way as mine; and so, “The road goes ever on and on…”

Originally written 7 May 2014

Ben Nevis

As I sit gazing into my back garden reflecting on this past weekend, part of me wishes I had never left the Highlands. There is a certain magic in the wildness of the Scottish Highlands that I will not easily be able to forget. While it may be my impressionable imagination and fondness for folklore talking, I can’t help but think of the ancient peoples and beasts that were as part of these lands as the pine glens or enigmatic lochs. I still like to think that those creatures and heroes of lore still exist somehow, merely hidden behind a craggy cairn or peeking out from a tree hollow. Having the chance to visit these places teeming with magic is something very special to me, as it reawakens my imagination and reinvigorates my soul.

Spending the weekend in a place such as Ben Nevis with some wonderful company has definitely done just that after a very strenuous semester. I do not think I have ever worked as hard as I have this semester, really pushing myself to excel to prove my worthiness for the honors modules in the latter half of my university career. Combined with the inevitable end of the semester homesickness, I have been struggling a bit as of late. Yet I was able to let some of this go over the weekend, reminding myself exactly what I love about being abroad: the adventure. Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in the British Isles and in just over four hours we hiked to the summit, something I have never done before. While there were points I did not think I could keep going, the warrior poet (as my mother likes to call me) within drove me ever onwards, tackling each new obstacle with vigor. Climbing to the top has thus far been one of the hardest things physically I have ever done.

What really struck me on our venture was the absolute silence. After an entire semester of the hustle and bustle of Logie’s Lane, it was nice to escape the human condition of business to simply be. Again, not helping my overwhelming desire to pack up everything and abandon civilization for a solitary cabin. Time, as well as noise, was simply not a factor as we climbed. It did not matter how long it took, nor did I really care; we could simply move along at our leisure, enjoying uncharacteristic sunshine, wind in our faces, and the company of kindred spirits. Like a puppy that needs an hour or so outside to wind down, this hike was just what I needed to quell my Walden urges to settle back into a few more weeks of hard work during revision and exams.

Another aspect of this climb worth mentioning is the conquering of fear. While I love bounding up mountains and hills, exulting in the liberation of it all, descending is a whole different scenario. As a child I had no qualms about jumping from tall trees or play structures and I willingly hung over railings of lighthouses to see the insignificant world below. Somehow in my age I have lost this fearlessness, much to my disappointment. Picking our way down Ben Nevis was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. Perhaps it was the fear of falling or the sheer plummet that turned my stomach, but suddenly I found myself alone, clinging to the side of a mountain suppressing the urge to cry. Or perhaps I was more upset at my complete and utter reserve, the loss of adventurous bravado I often attribute to myself. Me, the stouthearted and intrepid explorer, was afraid of a little danger. I wanted one of the boys in our group to come rescue me. I wanted to stay sitting on the side of the sheer rock face forever.

Yet it dawned on me that this is one more foe I had to vanquish alone. If I could routinely travel 3,000 miles from home on my own, I could certainly traverse down a mountain. While the going was slow, and the looming crevasse to my right turned my stomach, I made it down to the rest of my group. Though I was embarrassed at my palpable panic, I allowed myself to be proud of what I had accomplished. Somehow in the course of my twenty years I have become afraid. Afraid of other people’s cruelty, afraid of a world without the security of my parents, and afraid of whether I would accomplish all that I dreamed of or not. This realization of mine saddens me: how did I become so timid? As a child I was known for my fearlessness and fierce independence, keen to prove myself invincible under any circumstance, yet twenty years later I was trembling in the face of a small obstacle. Who was it that had made me think I was so small, so helpless? Moving to Scotland two years ago was one step in reclaiming this stoutheartedness, and as I reunited with my group after the initial descent, I felt as though I had regained another part. I had done yet another frightening task unaided, swallowing my trepidation and relying on myself to get the job done. While none of my companions knew it, bounding excitedly off in all directions after the lengthy delay, I had made another small step towards becoming the fearless and independent young woman I so want to be.

The rest of the weekend was filled with wonderful memories and even more wonderful company. A nice meal shared at the Lochy Inn, telephone pictionary, and a morning run in a logging forest all did wonders for the thirteen of us. On our drive back we also had the chance to ride through Glencoe. If I were to ask any of my American friends how they pictured Scotland to be, more often than not images of Glencoe would flash through their minds. This area has also been on my “Scottish Bucket List” for many a year due to its stark and majestic beauty.

All in all, this was probably one of the most amazing weekends of my life. I have already waxed poetic on here about how much I love the cross country team, but the feeling is genuine. I have found that in my time at St Andrews I have acquired two groups of friends: the cross country team and my main group. The latter can often be found at my house at any hour of the day, and while I am fond of them, I do see them constantly, whereas sightings of my cross country friends are really limited to training and long runs, where conversation is often reduced due to trying to conserve breath. Even our Saturday races seem too short, as everyone is keen to get home after a long day of racing. So I really treasure these long weekends where we can truly bond. Also, getting to do so in such a beautiful location did wonders for my semester worn soul.

Originally written 29 April 2014

Loch Ness

“Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

I find myself indebted to J.R.R. Tolkien for creating the hobbit species, for in doing so he provided a very clear definition for a particular type of person: those who love their home, the simple life, yet every so often find themselves on very big adventures. As this blog is certainly evidence of, I see very much of myself in Bilbo Baggins, always running off into the blue to stare at old trees and climb mountains. Luckily for me, I am fortunate enough to have a father who is, without a doubt, exactly the same. For spring break this year my dad has once again travelled from home to spend a week with me and I could not be more thrilled.

This year, as he has more time to spend, we decided to pack up and spend three days in the Highlands. Though many would argue that it is a “touristy” location, we set our sights on Loch Ness since it is unquestionably too beautiful to ignore. Plus, my father the avid photographer was so sure he would capture the definitive photo of Nessie. While we did not see that majestic beast of lore, we did see three rainbows, so I still count that as a fortuitous occasion!

The whole train ride up I had “Over the Misty Mountains Cold” score from the first Hobbit film stuck in my head, the one that triumphantly plays as Bilbo ventures further into the wild lands beyond the Shire. Such describes exactly how I felt: leaving the safe shores of St Andrews behind for the wilderness ahead. While Loch Ness and Drumnadrochit aren’t exactly rough territory, it still counts as an adventure beyond the everyday hustle and bustle of St Andrews life.

So the first day was spent traveling to our location. Yet on the next day we headed out to Urquhart Castle, right on the shores of Loch Ness, to begin our adventure. Though the castle is in ruins, it is still an impressive sight. It really makes you appreciate the skill, courage, and hardiness of medieval peoples; they built such a stronghold right on the edge of a tempestuous Loch, all with primitive equipment. Also, a lot of Urquhart’s history is guesswork, as most of the castle’s stone was taken to build surrounding houses. In all the bustle of deconstructing and restoration, several artifacts that would provide clues to the castle’s history have been lost. Such mystery! Loch Ness is also incredibly beautiful; luckily for us, we got a sunny and blue sky day to see the castle and the Loch, which only added to the experience.

After our venture to the castle, we returned to Drumnadrochit, the town we were staying in, to do some hiking. We took the “difficult” trail that runs through the Craigmonie Wood surrounding Drumnadrochit. The trail was mostly uphill with a few difficult rocks and roots, yet nothing we couldn’t handle. At the very summit of the trail one could see all of Drumnadrochit and Loch Ness in the distance. What a sight to behold! There was a large rock at the top that I could have sat on for hours, merely contemplating the peaceful solitude. And, seemingly just for us, a rainbow lazily stretched across the sky over Loch Ness as we approached the summit, making the adventure all the more magical.

We ended the day with a delicious, locally sourced burger at the Benleva Hotel, a cozy wee in nestled in Drumnadrochit. The inn was wonderful and so homey; tartan carpeting, a roaring fire, and books in the corner: almost like the Green Dragon! The owner of the inn even let his two dogs romp around the restaurant and bar, eagerly greeting every patron. I think this is one of the things I love most about Scotland: the simplicity and sense of home one feels, being welcomed by good company and quiet relaxation after a long day.

I am also so thankful that my father is able to go on all of these wondrous adventures with me. I feel so lucky that he shares my similar sense of adventure; though we are both incredible homebodies, we do love to simple tramp around the woods for a while, getting lost in the simplicity of nature. I think these times spent with my parents will amount to some of my favorite experiences in my time at St Andrews, for I get to share this place I love so dearly with two of my favorite people. Also, since my parents were the first to kindle my love of adventure, it feels only right that I return the favor somehow, opening up these new experiences for them as I venture further out into the world.

The week is winding down a bit, but I could not be happier. I spent a wonderful three days in a beautiful corner of the world with my favorite fellow hobbit, ate good food, and simply enjoyed life. The rest of the week holds a few more indulgent meals, a jaunt to Anstruther, and a look around the St Andrews museum. While I wish my father could stay longer, I am thankful for the time he took to visit me. I will no doubt cherish these memories of castle exploring and Nessie hunting with my best friend: my dad.

Originally written 20 March 2014

Ruminations in the Rain

“Anne laughed and sighed. She felt very old and mature and wise- which showed how young she was.”

-L.M. Montegomery, Anne of the Island

And thus begins a new year, a new semester, and a new decade for little me. Normally I am not one for New Year’s Resolutions, yet as 2014 descended upon us, I thought I could give it a try. Nothing wrong with a bit of change, right? Our own world is never resolute: it is static, frantic even, in its movements. As I begin this new year as an official “twenty-something,” I have resolved to do some things differently.

Mainly, I think it would be beneficial to stop worrying so much about the future. Sometimes I think that young people are too focused on making plans to accommodate for tomorrow that they are left with nothing for today. Yet this is not an error of ours; we are told at age fourteen that every avenue we pursue bears either rewards or consequences. We are told at age sixteen that one test decides our fate, and to not mess it up. We are told at age seventeen to decide what we want to be when we are fully-fledged adults, to decide where this change needs to take place, and to essentially plan our adult lives despite still being children. To me, this is quite the flaw: I know very few adults who have actually fulfilled what their seventeen year old self, even their twenty year old self, had intended for them.

This got me thinking: as I am so fond of adventure, why not look at life as the grandest adventure of all? Quest narratives often take such unexpected turns: beloved characters die, allies sometimes turn out to be the villain in disguise, and the ultimate destination may prove fruitless when compared to a richer unknown. Part of my “New Year’s Resolution” is to stop worrying so much about the destination, this end-stop that so many people have tried to tell me is the most important aspect of life. I have resolved to give simple living a try. Right now, I really don’t know what I want to do after university. A few weeks ago I had the wild idea to pursue the Peace Corps after I graduate, to fulfill my desire to travel even further while making a difference in the process. As I am young, passionate about learning and exploration, and able bodied, what is holding me back? Or what about trying to finish my book before I graduate, thinking more about that manuscript than the diploma placed in my hand? I have even considered trying something new, like acting, as another room for my creativity and fondness for theatrics seep into.

Though I still desire continuing my education beyond the undergraduate level, out of my insatiable curiosity, I need to tell myself that I have all the time in the world to do so. I must never doubt that a Masters or PhD will come to me; I am motivated enough to make such things happen. Yet I think it is high time for me to simply slow down. Amongst those who know me, I am famous for the phrase “comfortable mosey;” this is my preferred pace of locomotion, regardless of the occasion. Late for an appointment? Comfortable mosey. Walk down by the seaside? Comfortable mosey. Yet why do I eschew this pace in the great timeline of my life? It seems silly, really.

Thus arises my new manifesto: enjoying life. There are so many things I want to experience, yet “growing up” as its most commonly perceived is not one of them. As I begin a new decade in my life, I hope to fill it with as many new experiences as possible, and simply forget about tomorrow for a little while. Making myself anxious over a future I really cannot control only detracts from the beauty of the everyday. I can already count on one unforgettable thing that will happen this year: my first trip to mainland Europe. Who knows what else could happen?

It is now time for me to challenge you to try something new. Though “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door,” as Bilbo once said, it is worth the risk. Think of the adventure!

Originally written 28 January 2014

Home For Christmas

Between intensive revision for my exams, Yuletide festivities, running, and horseback riding, I have barely had a moment to relax! In exactly six days I will be flying back home for the Christmas holiday, and I could not be more excited. This semester has been particularly taxing, so I am very eager to once again be in the comforts of my own home surrounded by those I love.

I had my first exam of the semester last Wednesday for Comparative Literature. The exam venue was Lower College Hall, located in St. Salvator’s Quad. So whilst furiously scribbling about The Song of Roland I was surrounded by imposing portraits of various St Andrews dignitaries. Only in St Andrews! My next exams are Tuesday the 17th for Ancient Philosophy and Wednesday the 18th for English, then I am free! Immediately following my last exam I will be heading to Edinburgh to spend the day at the annual Christmas Market with my good friend Catriona, so photos to come! Then it’s a day of cleaning, laundry, and packing, then I am off to the airport to begin the trek back to the homestead.

Meanwhile, St Andrews has been garbed in its most resplendent holiday finery. Lights are strung across Market Street, the fountain is all aglow, and each shop window has its own unique and festive display. It is so magical! The only thing that could make it even more perfect would be snow, but alas, it has been quite temperate the last week so one can only dream!

Perhaps what I love most about Christmas though is the opportunity to give gifts. I enjoy hunting for unique treasures that remind me of people who are important to me. However, I received a very unexpected surprise: my closest friends all purchased gifts for me, and not just for Christmas, but for my impending twentieth birthday as well. Here is a sampling:

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For as long as I can remember, I have been the friend that would cross oceans for people who would not even think to hop a puddle for me. Often, I care so much for others that I am left with absolutely nothing. This has led to some very saddening trust issues. Yet the generosity of the friends I have made here at St Andrews astounds me.

Sometimes it feels as though our modern era of Facebook, Instagram, and other digital platforms has diminished what it means to genuinely know others. Gone are the days when one had to earn intimate knowledge, such as someone’s wildest fantasies, for all are packaged so neatly onto various social media websites. I feel as though this deluge of information somehow renders others clueless, since such is so readily accessible that they rarely take the time to actually learn wee details about others anymore.

Yet this simple act of gift giving has restored my faith in others a bit more. Never before have I had friends, people without the ties of blood to bind them into paying attention, evince such kindness. So small a gesture as taking the time to place me in my favorite book, for example, shows a thoughtfulness I have yet to know in my peers. I am so used to going to great lengths for others while they only show me cruelty and rudeness in return that I almost cannot accept these wonderful gifts of kindness my university friends have given me.

Going beyond just the material aspect of these gifts, this holiday season at university has been a completely new experience for me. This time last year, I was alone in my cold and impersonal dorm room, counting the agonizingly long hours until I could be in my mother’s arms once more. While I do love being at St. Andrews, the holiday season really brings out how much of a homebody I am, turning me into a homesick and grumpy mess of yearning.

However, something has changed. I am now beginning to see the value in friends as being a surrogate family. The kindness my friends have shown me this semester is almost unparalleled in my life, as I am so used to having others mistreat and manipulate me simply because I’m “the nice girl.” I seek refuge from this in my family, yet being so far from them has left me a bit lost. Yet for the first time in my life, I am now beginning to see that friends can be genuine people and as trust worthy as one’s own family. We are all in the same situation: miles from home, attempting to navigate this foreign world of young adulthood, and all the while trying to successfully obtain degrees. This sense of community amongst my peers is something I have never before experienced, and while it still makes me a bit hesitant, I am slowly beginning to trust others, appreciate their generosity, and see them as honest and genuine people.

So to all of my wonderful friends who have helped make my time at university better, I thank you. Though I do my best to hide it, being so far from home is a daily struggle: when I am upset, I have to wait until it is a reasonable hour to phone home. I cannot go home or see my parents whenever I wish. I have to remain poised and graceful despite feeling anger and hurt when others feel the need to tell me how “stupid” my accent sounds. Sometimes I feel like I just plain don’t belong. However, the time and effort you have all taken to make me feel welcome is appreciated beyond measure. For the first time in my life I feel as though I truly belong to something which is not established by my parents, but my own. Thank you for being there.

Originally written 15 December 2013

Giving Thanks

This year I decided to take it upon myself to host a Thanksgiving celebration for myself and nine of my closest friends here at St Andrews. All of these friends hailed from places outside the United States: Australia, Denmark, England, and Scotland. Thus, it was for many of them their very first American-style Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is a time that celebrates togetherness, yet being so far from home can at times be quite isolating. It meant so much to me that these special people chose to take part in this tradition, as it really made me feel more at home.

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With the table decked in maroon and white we began the feast. As I am my father’s daughter, I bravely elected to cook for ten people mostly on my own.

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To say this was an ambitious task is an understatement. There was much stress involved in trying to find what to serve as a main (turkeys needed to be preordered and wild duck is currently scarce), trying to time everything just right for serving (the squash ended up cold), and just trying to not fall asleep on my feet! But was it worth it? Absolutely. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

Being away from home has really given me some new perspective on Thanksgiving as a whole. As children, most of us believe Thanksgiving is just a time for eating an unruly amount of food or dodging awkward dinner conversations. However, I find that the more time I spend asserting my independence, the more I look back towards home and those I really rely upon. Before coming to St Andrews I was eager to “escape” my hometown, my “weird” parents, and other such inanities. Now I think just the opposite. For many young adults, going away to university does add a new dimension to life: learning to be independent. Yet adding the facet of living abroad to this already daunting change has really opened my eyes to what is important in life. I now cannot wait to return home for every holiday. I speak to my parents at least once everyday, and I find myself turning more and more into my mother.

What I am most thankful for this year is the fact that I not only get to branch out on my own in a foreign country, navigating both adulthood and Europe, but also that my home is waiting for me to return whenever I need to. My parents are the most supportive, selfless, and loving people I have ever encountered in my life. If one day I am but half as generous and kind as they are, I will think that my life amounted to a great success. I think perhaps my unwavering belief in the goodness of others comes from speaking with and observing my parents; any time the rudeness or egocentrism of others makes me sad, my parents are there to restore my faith in others. Though I wax poetic, I still feel as though words are inadequate to describe such wonderful people.

To extend this final note of reflection, this year I am also thankful for people in general: for the elderly couple strolling hand in hand, for people with funny laughs, for giving people, for mothers, for people who struggle to contain their joy for even the simplest things, and for people who inspire greatness others. All of these interesting and unique souls have such wonderful stories to tell, and I only wish I could hear them all. I believe that people do have goodness about them, which can manifest itself in different ways, whether it be simple gestures, the way they laugh, or how they pay attention to the world around them. People are truly remarkable beings.

Originally written 30 November 2013

Musing at Midnight

Currently I am procrastinating an essay, but this contemplative mood spurred by my scholarly pursuits has left me thinking of anything but comparing Purgatorio and The Qur’an. 

As my twentieth birthday is rapidly approaching, I have been pondering what this next phase of my life will include. I consider this milestone as “real adulthood,” and therefore a time of change. I acknowledge that I still have so much to learn about myself, and this knowledge will not magically appear the morning of December 30th. However, lately I have been feeling as though it is time to make some adjustments to who I am as a person that will ultimately benefit me as I grow.

We all have character flaws, and sometimes these flaws are what define us as a person and help us learn from mistakes. Not all flaws are terrible and tragic, but they can be somewhat of a hinderance in life, personal relationships, and other such realms. I admit that I am a timid person. I am too shy to voice my desires and opinions. I put the needs of others ahead of my own needs. I have a hard time seeing the value of myself.

Some of these things are not inherently bad. Perhaps one of the things I actually like about myself is my generosity: making other people smile is one of my great joys in life. Sometimes, though, this generosity is manipulated into something that can make me somewhat melancholy. I recently came across a great quote that I thought I would share: “Stop crossing oceans for people who would not even hop a puddle for you.” These words really resonated with me. I have often found that I give so much of myself to the people I care about that little to nothing is left for myself. I spend so much time worrying about others that I take no time to worry about myself, and after nearly two decades of doing such, I have grown very weary.

Now I think it is time to start. I am afraid to do so though: I am afraid of The Selfish. I have always firmly believed in selflessness, yet I may have crossed a line. I need to stop constantly concerning myself with others and begin thinking about things that will make me happy. Balance is key to any life well-lived, and I think that is what my life has been lacking.

Slowly but surely I am making my way towards self-acceptance. Part of me feels as though with this will come the urge to defend myself against an off-handed comment, the courage to introduce myself to that dapper gentleman I see everyday, and the confidence to wear Maggie with pride. I approach this change with trepidation, but perhaps my life needs a little risk, to step outside this framework that has obviously not been working and rebuild.

Originally written 28 October 2013